


A Very Small Man Can Cast A Very Large Shadow

by Lady_Blade_WarAngel



Series: Broken Lions [1]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Dragons, F/M, Fate & Destiny, Grief/Mourning, distant father
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-22 05:27:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,190
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6066892
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Blade_WarAngel/pseuds/Lady_Blade_WarAngel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tyrion Lannister has to grow up without a mother. His older brother and sister, and his father, do not tell him about her. All he knows, is that his mother is dead. But he wishes he did know more. How far will that wish take him?</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Very Small Man Can Cast A Very Large Shadow

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RoseHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseHeart/gifts).
  * Inspired by [The Seven Bind Their Fate](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1241512) by [RoseHeart](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RoseHeart/pseuds/RoseHeart). 



> This was inspired by RoseHeart's Seven Bind Their Fate. I hope you all like it. (nods)

A Very Small Man Can Cast A Very Large Shadow.

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

“Maester, I had a strange dream.” Tyrion said. The old Maester looked at the young boy.

“And what dream was that, Tyrion?” The Maester asked. Tyrion was four years old, inquisitive and intelligent.

“I was up in the sky and I was flying!” Tyrion exclaimed excitedly.

“Really?” Tyrion turned to look at his older brother, who had just arrived in the Maester’s tower room. It was where the children had always had their lessons. But Tyrion spent more time with the Maester, as his older brother would often be in the training yard. Tyrion was still too young, and not strong enough to practise with a sword.

“I was riding on a dragon!” Tyrion replied. His older brother picked him up and spun him around, causing Tyrion to shriek with glee and laughter. When he stopped spinning him, Tyrion’s brother held him close.

“Well that dragon would be lucky to have you.” His older brother said. Tyrion wrapped his arms around his brother’s neck and hugged tightly. His brother was strong. Tyrion knew his brother would never let him fall.

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

Tyrion was six, the first time he asked about his mother. He asked his wetnurse, though she had long since stopped feeding him her milk, but Tyrion always knew there _had been_ a mother. His older sister reminded him often, that they had once had a mother's love. Though his older brother loved him enough for a hundred dead mothers, Tyrion knew nothing about the woman who’d brought him into the world.

“Did you know my mother?” Tyrion had asked his wetnurse. She stared in astonishment for a moment.

“I did know her.” The wetnurse replied. Tyrion looked at the woman from where he sat. His eyes full of curiosity, a wooden knight in his hands.

“What was my mother like?” Tyrion asked. The woman stared at him with damp eyes, tears threatening to spill. Tyrion didn’t understand. He only asked what his mother was like. No one seemed able to tell him about her.

“She loved you. That is all you need to know for now.” Tyrion was shocked to hear the voice of his father at the doorway. Tyrion's father never spoke to him directly, not that he could ever recall in all his six short years of life. He often caught his father looking at him, watching him from a distance, his green eyes flashed like wildfire, though Tyrion doubted there was pride in that stare. Tyrion was a lion of House Lannister, though he was lesser, than his siblings, for he looked little like them. Both his sister and his brother bore the striking looks of their house. Their golden hair and skin brought out the emerald green of their eyes. Tyrion was ugly, at least he thought he was, with hair that was almost white, and only one of his eyes were the vibrant green the rest of his family held. Tyrion offered up his toy knight to his father, hoping that just once, his father would sit with him, like he did with his older brother and sister.

“His name is Duncan, father. Like Duncan the Tall.” Tyrion told his father. He picked up another of his toy knights. “And this one is Aemon the Dragonknight.” Tyrion added. His father looked at him, and Tyrion wanted to understand the strange look on his father’s face.

“You certainly know your history.” His father said. After his father had spoken, Tyrion watched his imposing form disappear down the stone halls. A sword hung at his right side, and the sunlight played in the gold of his father’s hair. His father was an impressive man, and it just made Tyrion feel much less a Lannister. It made him want answers that he wasn’t sure he would ever receive.

xXxXxXxXxXxXx  
  
It was when Tyrion was eight, that he realised his father would not allow him to train with a sword. Tyrion would watch for hours, as his brother practised with sword and lance, with shield and morningstar. Even as Tyrion read large tomes on the histories of Westeros, hoping his father would appreciate his knowledge, he watched and he wished he could be strong enough to spar too. But when he asked his father, the imposing man would say "Maybe next year, if you grow stronger."  Tyrion knew that meant he would wait another year, before he could ask again. Each year, it was the same. Tyrion realised his father wouldn’t ever think he was ready to use a sword. This was a thought that made him desperately unhappy. His father always looked so proud when he watched Tyrion’s brother in the practise yard. Tyrion wanted his father’s gaze to be proud when he looked upon him too. It was such a small thing that he wanted. At least, that was what Tyrion thought. He wanted his father to be proud of him too.

xXxXxXxXxXxXx  
  
Tyrion first held a sword when he was ten years old. He did not ask his father if he could start to train with a sword, because he knew his father would say no. He always said no. Tyrion went to the training yard, where his brother often practised, and he picked up one of the swords. He hadn't realised that a sword would be so heavy. It was not a practise sword, but a true sword that Tyrion had picked up. He couldn't lift the heavy sword properly, and when he tried, he dropped it, cutting his hand as the blade slipped through the grip of his fingers. He felt his eyes burn with the sting of tears that he didn’t want to release. He looked at the blood, welling up from the cut on his palm.

“Tyrion? What are you doing? What happened?” Tyrion looked up at his older brother, as tall and imposing as their father was, and that was when he started to cry. Hot tears trailed down his cheeks.

“Please don’t tell father! He’ll be angry with me!” Tyrion pleaded. His older brother frowned slightly, but took him to his bedchambers, cleaned the cut across his palm, and bandaged it.

“I won’t tell father.” His brother said. Tyrion was wrapped up in his brother’s embrace, until he stopped crying. He wondered if his mother would have allowed him to train with a sword. He also wondered if his mother would hold him as his brother now did. He wondered if she would have comforted him in this moment, like his older brother did. Tyrion realised he would never know the answer to his questions. He hoped that one day, someone would tell him about his mother, but he didn’t hold out much hope.

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

It was not even a week after Tyrion received the cut on his palm, when he started to feel sick. He was tired and shivering, and felt cold. As he sat with the Maester, usually happy at lessons, he wasn’t himself.

“Tyrion?” Tyrion looked up at the Maester. “Are you well?” The Maester asked him. Tyrion wasn’t sure about how he felt.

“I feel sick.” Tyrion said. His voice was slurring. His hand was throbbing. He realised he was going to be sick, and his body moved before he could realise it. He got out of his chair, tripping as his feet seemed to get tangled in the legs.

“Tyrion!” Tyrion heard his brother shout. He hit the floor, unable to keep himself upright anymore. He recalled his throat burning, his stomach churning, as he threw up. He heard voices around him, but he didn’t see anything, as he passed out.

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

Tyrion flitted in and out of consciousness. He heard voices. He heard his brother, felt his brother’s hands around his own, uninjured hand. He heard the voice of his sister, cool and collected. He heard the voice of his father, but the words spoken, escaped his hearing. He wasn’t sure how long he’d been in his bed. It felt like it had been years sometimes. At other times, it felt like he’d only been in his bed a few hours. Sometimes, he thought that he was still lying on the floor of the Maester’s tower. Throughout that time, he only heard snatches of the voices of all around him. It was strange. The world was floating. He felt something poured down his throat, and it tasted awful. He tried to spit it out, but an unfamiliar hand held his mouth closed until he swallowed it. Once he swallowed the foul tasting liquid, all he knew was that he was flying. Nothing else mattered.

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

When Tyrion woke, he saw his father.

“Father?” Tyrion questioned. His father looked at him, worry in his eyes, but within moments, the worry disappeared. Anger replaced it.

“Why did you not tell the Maester that you’d cut your hand?” His father asked. Tyrion shrunk into his pillows, not wishing to anger his father further.

“I didn’t want you to be angry with me. I just wanted to learn to use a sword. Then you could be proud of me too.” Tyrion said. For just a single moment, Tyrion saw a softness appear in his father’s eyes. It was something that Tyrion didn’t usually see in his father. But that single moment reminded Tyrion of when his older brother would play with him and let him read to him.

“It’s time I told you about your mother.” His father said. “And how she died.” He added. Tyrion felt a shiver travel down his spine. He waited and listened as his father told him a story about his mother, about how strong and brave she was, and how she had died shortly after his birth. For the first time in his life, Tyrion felt real hatred, real anger. He promised himself, that one day he would take his family’s vengeance. He would make sure that he brought justice to his family.

xXxXxXxXxXxXx

Tyrion was four and ten, the first time he killed someone. There was chaos all around him as Tyrion moved through the Red Keep. He had more courage than most boys of his age. He walked through the Red Keep, ignoring the battles going on around him. He had one purpose. There was only one person that he wanted to see.

“Tyrion!” Tyrion spun around to see his older brother, sword in hand, blade slick with blood. “What are you doing here? You’re not meant to be here. You’re too young.” He chided.

“You know what I’m doing.” Tyrion replied. His brother nodded, looking worried and sad.

“Tyrion, you don’t know what it is to kill someone, little brother. It doesn’t change anything, accept for who you are inside.” He said. Tyrion nodded at his brother, and carried on through the halls. He was heading to one place. All his reading and studying let him know exactly where he was heading. He saw two guards outside. They were men in white cloaks.

 _“Kingsguard.”_ Tyrion thought to himself. He loaded his crossbow, a small thing, that could fire three arrows at a time. With one shot, he took out the two Kingsguard soldiers, that were stood outside and he pushed open one of the doors to the great throne room. There, sat upon the legendary Iron throne, was the woman responsible for his misery.

“Who are you?” The woman asked coldly. A golden goblet hung in the grasp of her fingers. Tyrion stared at her. This woman had once been described as the most beautiful woman in the Seven Kingdoms. But Tyrion could see that her dresses were cutting into her skin, where she had allowed herself to go to fat. Her face was filled with coldness, her eyes filled with hatred. She wasn’t beautiful. In fact, Tyrion felt that this woman was ugly.

“Vengeance.” Tyrion replied coolly, before he drew his own sword. The sword that had once belonged to his mother, Oathkeeper. “I’m vengeance, and I’ve been waiting a long enough time to meet you, _your grace_.” Tyrion replied, his sword sparkled like blood through the night sky. There were no guards in the room with them. Tyrion thought that this woman was foolish. _“You’d think she’d have the sense to have protection inside the throne room, not just two men at the door.”_ Tyrion thought to himself.

“Vengeance? What ridiculous vengeance would that be?” The woman spat at the boy of four and ten.

“You had _my mother_ murdered. You murdered my uncle, the man I was named for. You would have murdered me. I was a babe at the breast when you tried to take my life. You should have tried _harder_. You should have made sure you killed me, Aunt. Because I won’t make the same mistakes as you. I’ll be _sure_ to kill you.” Tyrion replied. The woman, stood from the Iron throne and descended from it’s platform.

“You call me aunt? I had two brothers and both are dead.” The woman stated.

“You _hoped_ they were both dead. You are not half as smart as you think you are, or you would have asked to see bodies. _My father_ is Ser Jaime Lannister and he still lives. He fights at the side of the Dragon Queen, who means to take Westeros from you. You may have killed my mother, but my father lives.” Tyrion replied. Cersei frowned at him.

“Your mother?” Cersei asked. Her confusion was clear.

“My mother was Brienne of Tarth. I’m Tyrion Lannister, aunt. Named for the brother you despised, for a crime he didn’t commit.” Tyrion replied. That was when Cersei Lannister turned pale. Her face drained of all colour.

“Valonqar.” Cersei uttered. Tyrion felt confusion at the fear that showed on the face of the Queen Regent.

“I suppose I am. After all, I am the younger brother of _your children_ , if the rumours are to be believed.” Tyrion replied. Cersei backed away from him. Tyrion could see that she was terrified, and suddenly, all Tyrion could feel for this woman, was a great wave of pity. Tyrion sheathed Oathkeeper.

“Why sheath your sword? I can call my guards in at any moment.” Cersei stated.

“You mean the two Kingsguard men, who I killed before I came in here?” Tyrion questioned. He felt a grin cross his face, as the former queen looked towards the exit of the throne room. “I sheathed my sword, because I will not profane my mother’s sword, with the blood of someone so foul as you. You’ve been thinking that you are all powerful for so long. But you’re nothing at all. You’ve built your kingdom on lies and hate, bolstered it with weak men and dishonourable sellswords. You’re probably wondering why your dynasty is crumbling around you. You’re not worth me killing. You’re pitiful.” Tyrion said. Cersei looked furious, her face turning red, her eyes blazing with fury. Tyrion could almost imagine how this woman could have once been called beautiful.

“How dare _you_ call me pitiful, you little brat.” Cersei spat at him. Tyrion shook his head and decided to leave the throne room.

 _“Killing her would be worth nothing. She’s not worth becoming a kinslayer for.”_ Tyrion thought to himself. But the words of this cold woman, made him freeze in his thoughts to leave.

“If you are my Jaime’s child, you would try to help me. My brother loves me. He always has.” Cersei said. But Tyrion could hear the doubt creeping into her voice. Tyrion felt a glare cross his face, as he looked at Cersei.

“My father despises you for taking away the people he loved most in his life. Do you think he will weep over your dead body? He will not. He wept over my mother. I was told he has never stopped grieving over her. He told me that she would always be more beautiful than you in his eyes, for she had a beautiful heart and soul, while yours were both made with poison and darkness. She made him a better man, and you made him a dishonourable one. She filled his world with light and you filled it with darkness.” Tyrion said. He stepped closer and closer to her, furious with this woman who had taken so much from him, as well as his father. Cersei stepped back further and further, trying to find a way out of the throne room, or to escape Tyrion. She tripped over the train of her red, satin gown, falling backwards, on to the stone ground. As she fell, an explosion rocked the Red Keep.

“The Dragons are here.” Tyrion thought. But before he could say anything more, another explosion rocked the castle around them. Cersei let out a scream, and Tyrion realised that a statue of Aegon the fifth had fallen on top of the former Queen. The hands of the statue wrapped around the Queen’s throat. It must have held something in it’s hands once. A goblet, a sword, anything. But whatever it was, must have fallen from the statue’s grip when it fell over in the explosion. Cersei was choking, as the statue pinned her to the floor of the throne room. Tyrion wasn’t sure what to do. He didn’t know whether to try and help her or to leave her to her fate.

“Your mother was considered honourable. Well, as honourable as the whore of a Kingsguard Lord Commander, could ever be.” Cersei choked out. Tyrion could see her face turning blue, as the stone pressed into her throat. “Do you think she’d want you to leave me to die like this?” Cersei added. Tyrion found a smile gracing his face. Cersei looked confused and disturbed, she was coughing and reaching out to him.

“No. She wouldn’t want me to do such a thing.” Tyrion replied. Cersei looked relieved. But Tyrion turned around, facing the doors to the throne room. He looked back over his shoulder at her. “But I am not my mother, you grace.” Tyrion said. He walked to the throne room doors, then turned back to watch, as Cersei of House Lannister, his father’s twin sister, his mother’s murderer, choked to death at the hands of a stone statue. The statue of a man who was never meant to be king. The king, that was a younger brother. Tyrion watched the spark of life leave her eyes, and found a strange relief burning in his chest. His father wouldn’t have to decide, or watch what happened, to this evil woman. It was over for them now. Tyrion placed his right hand on Oathkeeper’s hilt, and decided that it was time to join the fight. After all, he couldn’t leave everything to his older brother and sister, and his father. He had to play his part in this battle. Maybe, one day, many years from now, another Tyrion would read the histories, and read about him. The boy of four and ten, who faced down the queen regent, and survived to tell the tale. Tyrion walked out into the battle with a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, I hope you enjoyed reading this. I'm considering writing some other parts for this, making it a series. Like maybe writing from Jaime's Point of View, and Brienne's, maybe Cersei's? I don't know. But do let me know what you think of this, as well as the idea. LOL! Anywho, thanks for reading this piece of rambling stuff. I hope that it was worth the read. LOL!


End file.
